"From the point of view of the criminal
expert," said Mr.Sherlock Holmes, "London has become a singularly uninterest-ing city since the death of the late lamented Professor
Moriarty." "I can hardly think that you would find many
decent citizensto agree with you," I answered. "Well, well, I must not be selfish," said he,
with a smile, ashe pushed back his chair from the breakfast-table.
"The commu-nity is certainly the gainer, and no one the loser,
save the poorout-of-work specialist, whose occupation has gone.
With thatman in the field, one's morning paper presented infinite
possibil-ities. Often it was only the smallest trace, Watson,
the faintestindication, and yet it was enough to tell me that
the greatmalignant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors
of the edges ofthe web remind one of the foul spider which lurks
in the centre.Petty thefts, wanton assaults, purposeless outrage
-- to the manwho held the clue all could be worked into one connected
whole.To the scientific student of the higher criminal world,
no capitalin Europe offered the advantages which London then
possessed.But now --" He shrugged his shoulders in humorous
deprecationof the state of things which he had himself done so
much toproduce. At the time of which I speak, Holmes had been
back for somemonths, and I at his request had sold my practice
and returned toshare the old quarters in Baker Street. A young doctor,
namedVemer, had purchased my small Kensington practice,
and givenwith astonishingly little demur the highest price
that I ventured toask -- an incident which only explained itself some
years later,when I found that Vemer was a distant relation of
Holmes, andthat it was my friend who had really found the money. Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful
as hehad stated, for I find, on looking over my notes,
that this periodincludes the case of the papers of ex-President Murillo,
and alsothe shocking affair of the Dutch steamship Friesland,
which sonearly cost us both our lives. His cold and proud
nature wasalways averse, however, from anything in the shape
of publicapplause, and he bound me in the most stringent terms
to say nofurther word of himself, his methods, or his successes
-- a prohi-bition which, as I have explained, has only now been
removed. Mr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his
chair after hiswhimsical protest, and was unfolding his morning paper
in aleisurely fashion, when our attention was arrested
by a tremen-dous ring at the bell, followed immediately by a hollow
drum-ming sound, as if someone were beating on the outer
door withhis fist. As it opened there came a tumultuous rush
into the hall,rapid feet clattered up the stair, and an instant
later a wild-eyedand frantic young man, pale, dishevelled, and palpitating,
burstinto the room. He looked from one to the other of
us, and underour gaze of inquiry he became conscious that some
apology wasneeded for this unceremonious entry. "I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "You mustn't
blame me.I am nearly mad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John
HectorMcFarlane." He made the announcement as if the name alone
would ex-plain both his visit and its manner, but I could seel
by mycompanion's unresponsive face, that it meant no more
to himthan to me. "Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane," said he,
pushing his caseacross. "I am sure that, with your symptoms, my friend
Dr.Watson here would prescribe a sedative. The weather
has beenso very warm these last few days. Now, if you feel
a little morecomposed, I should be glad if you would sit down in
that chair,and tell us very slowly and quietly who you are. and
what it isthat you want. You mentioned your name, as if I should
recog-nize it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious
facts that youare a bachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic,
Iknow nothing whatever about you." Familiar as I was with my friend's methods,
it was not diffi-cult for me to follow his deductions, and to observe
the untidi-ness of attire, the sheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm,
and thebreathing which had prompted them. Our client, however,
staredin amazement. "Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes; and, in addition,
I am themost unfortunate man at this moment in London. For
heaven'ssake, don't abandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come to
arrest mebefore I have finished my story, make them give me
time, sothat I may tell you the whole truth. I could go to
jail happy if Iknew that you were working for me outside." "Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is really
most grati -- mostinteresting. On what charge do you expect to be arrested?" "Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas Oldacre,
of LowerNorwood." My companion's expressive face showed a sympathy
whichwas not, I am afraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction. "Dear me," said he, "it was only this moment
at breakfastthat I was saying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensationalcases had disappeared out of our papers." Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand
and picked upthe Daily Telegraph, which still lay upon Holmes's
knee. "If you had looked at it, sir, you would have
seen at a glancewhat the errand is on which I have come to you this
morning. Ifeel as if my name and my misfortune must be in every
man'smouth." He turned it over to expose the central page.
"Here itis, and with your permission I will read it to you.
Listen to this,Mr. Holmes. The headlines are: 'Mysterious Affair
at LowerNorwood. Disappearance of a Well Known Builder. Suspicion
ofMurder and Arson. A Clue to the Criminal.' That is
the cluewhich they are already following, Mr. Holmes, and
I know thatit leads infallibly to me. I have been followed from
LondonBridge Station, and I am sure that they are only waiting
for thewarrant to arrest me. It will break my mother's heart
-- it willbreak her heart!" He wrung his hands in an agony of
apprehen-sion, and swayed backward and forward in his chair. I looked with interest upon this man, who was
accused ofbeing the perpetrator of a crime of violence. He was
flaxen-haired and handsome, in a washed-out negative fashion,
withfrightened blue eyes, and a clean-shaven face, with
a weak,sensitive mouth. His age may have been about twenty-seven,
hisdress and bearing that of a gentleman. From the pocket
of hislight summer overcoat protruded the bundle of endorsed
paperswhich proclaimed his profession. "We must use what time we have," said Holmes.
"Watson,would you have the kindness to take the paper and
to read theparagraph in question?" Underneath the vigorous headlines which our
client had quoted,I read the following suggestive narrative:

"Late last night,
or early this morning, an incident oc- curred at Lower Norwood which
points, it is feared, to a serious crime. Mr. Jonas Oldacre
is a well known resident of that suburb, where he has
carried on his business as a builder for many years. Mr.
Oldacre is a bachelor, fifty-two years of age, and lives in Deep
Dene House, at the Sydenham end of the road of that name.
He has had the reputation of being a man of eccentric habits,
secretive and retiring. For some years he has practically
withdrawn from the business, in which he is said to have
massed considerable wealth. A small timber-yard still exists,
however, at the back of the house, and last night, about
twelve o'clock, an alarm was given that one of the stacks
was on fire. The engines were soon upon the spot, but the
dry wood burned with great fury, and it was impossible
to arrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely
consumed. Up to this point the incident bore the appearance
of an ordinary accident, but fresh indications seem to point
to serious crime. Surprise was expressed at the absence
of the master of the establish- ment from the scene of the fire,
and an inquiry followed, which showed that he had disappeared
from the house. An examination of his room revealed
that the bed had not been slept in, that a safe which
stood in it was open, that a number of important papers were
scattered about the room, and finally, that there were
signs of a murderous struggle, slight traces of blood being
found within the room, and an oaken walking-stick, which also
showed stains of blood upon the handle. It is known
that Mr. Jonas Oldacre had received a late visitor in his
bedroom upon that night, and the stick found has been identified
as the property of this person, who is a young London
solicitor named John Hector McFarlane, junior partner of
Graham and McFarlane, of 426 Gresham Buildings. E. C.
The police believe that they have evidence in their possession
which supplies a very convincing motive for the crime,
and altogether it cannot be doubted that sensational developments
will follow. "LATER. -- It is
rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John Hector McFarlane has actually
been arrested on the charge of the murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre.
It is at least certain that a warrant has been issued. There
have been further and sinister developments in the
investigation at Norwood. Be- sides the signs of a struggle
in the room of the unfortunate builder it is now known that
the French windows of his bedroom (which is on the ground
floor) were found to be open, that there were marks
as if some bulky object had been dragged across to the wood-pile,
and, finally, it is asserted that charred remains
have been found among the charcoal ashes of the fire.
The police theory is that a most sensational crime has been committed,
that the victim was clubbed to death in his own
bedroom, his papers rifled, and his dead body dragged across
to the wood-stack, which was then ignited so as to hide all
traces of the crime. The conduct of the criminal investigation
has been left in the experienced hands of Inspector
Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, who is following up the clues
with his accustomed energy and sagacity."

Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and
fingertips to-gether to this remarkable account. "The case has certainly some points of interest,"
said he, inhis languid fashion. "May I ask, in the first place,
Mr. McFarlane,how it is that you are still at liberty, since there
appears to beenough evidence to justify your arrest?" "I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, with
my parents,Mr. Holmes but last night, having to do business very
late withMr. Jonas Oidacre, I stayed at an hotel in Norwood,
and came tomy business from there. I knew nothing of this affair
until I wasin the train, when I read what you have just heard.
I at once sawthe horrible danger of my position, and I hurried
to put the caseinto your hands. I have no doubt that I should have
been arrestedeither at my city office or at my home. A man followed
me fromLondon Bridge Station, and I have no doubt Great heaven!what is that?" It was a clang of the bell, followed instantly
by heavy stepsupon the stair. A moment later, our old friend Lestrade
appearedin the doorway. Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse
of one ortwo uniformed policemen outside. "Mr. John Hector McFarlane?" said LestMde. Our unfortunate client rose with a ghastly
face. "I arrest you for the wilful murder of Mr.
Jonas Oldacre, ofLower Norwood." McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair,
and sankinto his chair once more like one who is crushed. "One moment. Lestrade," said Holmes. "Half
an hour moreor less can make no difference to you, and the gentleman
wasabout to give us an account of this very interesting
affair, whichmight aid us in clearing it up." "I think there will be no difficulty in clearing
it up," saidLestrade, grimly. "None the less, with your permission, I should
be muchinterested to hear his account." "Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me to
refuse youanything, for you have been of use to the force once
or twice inthe past, and we owe you a good turn at Scotland Yard,"
saidLestrade. "At the same time I must remain with my
prisonerand I am bound to warn him that anything he may say
willappear in evidence against him." "I wish nothing better," said our client. "All
I ask is that youshould hear and recognize the absolute truth." Lestrade looked at his watch. "I'll give you
half an hour,"said he. "I must explain first," said McFarlane, "that
I knew nothingof Mr. Jonas Oldacre. His name was familiar to me,
for manyyears ago my parents were acquainted with him, but
they driftedapart. I was very much surprised, therefore, when
yesterday,about three o'clock in the afternoon, he walked into
my office inthe city. But I was still more astonished when he
told me theobject of his visit. He had in his hand several sheets
of anotebook, covered with scribbled writing -- here they
are -- andhe laid them on my table. " 'Here is my will,' said he. 'I want you,
Mr. McFarlane, tocast it into proper legal shape. I will sit here while
you do so.' "I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine
my astonish-ment when I found that, with some reservations, he
had left allhis property to me. He was a strange little ferret-like
man, withwhite eyelashes, and when I looked up at him I found
his keengray eyes fixed upon me with an amused expression.
I couldhardly believe my own senses as I read the terms of
the will, buthe explained that he was a bachelor with hardly any
livingrelation, that he had known my parents in his youth,
and that hehad always heard of me as a very deserving young man,
and wasassured that his money would be in worthy hands. Of
course, Icould only stammer out my thanks. The will was duly
finished,signed, and witnesscd by my clerk. This is it on the
blue paper.and these slips, as I have explained. are the rough
draft. Mr.Jonas Oldacre then informed me that there were a number
ofdocuments -- building leases, title-deeds, mortgages,
scrip, andso forth -- which it was necessary that I should see
and understand.He said that his mind would not be easy until the
whole thingwas settled, and he begged me to come out to his house
atNorwood that night, bringing the will with me, and
to arrangematters. 'Remember, my boy, not one word to your parentsabout the affair until everything is settled. We will
keep it as alittle surprise for them.' He was very insistent upon
this point,and made me promise it faithfully. "You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not
in a humour torefuse him anything that he might ask. He was my benefactor,and all my desire was to carry out his wishes in every
particular.I sent a telegram home, therefore, to say that I had
importantbusiness on hand, and that it was impossible for me
to say howlate I might be. Mr. Oldacre had told me that he would
like meto have supper with him at nine, as he might not be
home beforethat hour. I had some difficulty in finding his house,
however,and it was nearly half-past before I reached it. I
found him --" "One moment!" said Holmes. "Who opened the
door?" "A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose, his
housekeeper." "And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your
name?" "Exactly," said McFarlane. "Pray proceed." McFarlane wiped his damp brow, and then continued
hisnarrative: "I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room,
where afrugal supper was laid out. Afterwards, Mr. Jonas
Oldacre ledme into his bedroom, in which there stood a heavy
safe. This heopened and took out a mass of documents, which we
went overtogether. It was between eleven and twelve when we
finished.He remarked that we must not disturb the housekeeper.
Heshowed me out through his own French window, which
had beenopen all this time." "Was the blind down?" asked Holmes. "I will not be sure. but I believe that it
was only half down.Yes, I remember how he pulled it up in order to swing
open thewindow. I could not find my stick, and he said, 'Never
mind,my boy, I shall see a good deal of you now, I hope,
and I willkeep your stick until you come back to claim it.'
I left him there,the safe open, and the papers made up in packets upon
the table.It was so latc that I could not get back to Blackheath.
so I spentthe night at the Anerley Arms. and I knew nothing
more until Iread of this horrible affair in the morning." "Anything more that you would like to ask,
Mr. Holmes?"said Lestrade, whose eyebrows had gone up once or
twice duringthis remarkable explanation. "Not until I have been to Blackheath." "You mean to Norwood," said Lestrade. "Oh, yes, no doubt that is what I must have
meant," saidHolmes, with his enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned
bymore experiences than he would care to acknowledge
that thatrazor-like brain could cut through that which was
impenetrable tohim. I saw him look curiously at my companion. "I think I should like to have a word with
you presently, Mr,Sherlock Holmes," said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two
of myconstables are at the door, and there is a four-wheeler
waiting."The wretched young man arose, and with a last beseechingglance at us walked from the room. The officers conducted
himto the cab, but Lestrade remained. Holmes had picked up the pages which formed
the rough draftof the will, and was looking at them with the keenest
interestupon his face. "There are some points about that document,
Lestrade, arethere not?" said he, pushing them over. The official looked at them with a puzzled
expression. "I can read the first few lines, and these
in the middle of thesecond page, and one or two at the end. Those are
as clear asprint," said he, "but the writing in between is very
bad, andthere are three places where I cannot read it at all." "What do you make of that?" said Holmes. "Well, what do you make of it?" "That it was written in a train. The good writing
representsstations, the bad writing movement, and the very bad
writingpassing over points. A scientific expert would pronounce
at oncethat this was drawn up on a suburban line, since nowhere
save inthe immediate vicinity of a great city could there
be so quick asuccession of points. Granting that his whole journey
was occu-pied in drawing up the will, then the train was an
express, onlystopping once between Norwood and London Bridge." Lestrade began to laugh. "You are too many for me when you begin to
get on yourtheories. Mr. Holmes," said he. "How does this bear
on thecase?" "Well, it corroborates the young man's story
to the extent thatthe will was drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey
yesterday.It is curious -- is it not? -- that a man should draw
up so importanta document in so haphazard a fashion. It suggests
that he did notthink it was going to be of much practical importance.
If a mandrew up a will which he did not intend ever to be
effective, hemight do it so." "Well, he drew up his own death warrant at
the same time,"said Lestrade. "Oh, you think so?" "Don't you?" "Well, it is quite possible, but the case is
not clear to meyet." "Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what
could be clear? Hereis a young man who learns suddenly that, if a certain
older mandies, he will succeed to a fortune. What does he do?
He saysnothing to anyone, but he arranges that he shall go
out on somepretext to see his client that night. He waits until
the only otherperson in the house is in bed, and then in the solitude
of a man'sroom he murders him, burns his body in the wood-pile,
anddeparts to a neighbouring hotel. The blood-stains
in the roomand also on the stick are very slight. It is probable
that heimagined his crime to be a bloodless one, and hoped
that if thebody were consumed it would hide all traces of the
method of hisdeath -- traces which, for some reason, must have
pointed to him.Is not all this obvious?" "It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being
just a trifle tooobvious," said Holmes. "You do not add imagination
to yourother great qualities, but if you could for one moment
putyourself in the place of this young man, would you
choose thevery night after the will had been made to commit
your crime?Would it not seem dangerous to you to make so very
close arelation between the two incidents? Again, would you
choose anoccasion when you are known to be in the house, when
a servanthas let you in? And, finally, would you take the great
pains toconceal the body, and yet leave your own stick as
a sign that youwere the cnminal? Confess, Lestrade, that all this
is very unlikely." "As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well
as I do that acriminal is often flurried, and does such things,
which a coolman would avoid. He was very likely afraid to go back
to theroom. Give me another theory that would fit the facts." "I could very easily give you half a dozen,"
said Holmes."Here, for example, is a very possible and even probable
one. Imake you a free present of it. The older man is showing
docu-ments which are of evident value. A passing tramp
sees themthrough the window, the blind of which is only half
down. Exitthe solicitor. Enter the tramp! He seizes a stick,
which heobserves there, kills Oldacre, and departs after burning
the body." "Why should the tramp burn the body?" "For the matter of that, why should McFarlane?" "To hide some evidence." "Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any
murder at all hadbeen committed." "And why did the tramp take nothing?" "Because they were papers that he could not
negotiate." Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to
me that hismanner was less absolutely assured than before. "Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for
your tramp,and while you are finding him we will hold on to our
man. Thefuture will show which is right. Just notice this
point, Mr.Holmes: that so far as we know, none of the papers
wereremoved, and that the prisoner is the one man in the
world whohad no reason for removing them, since he was heir-at-law,
andwould come into them in any case." My friend seemed struck by this remark. "I don't mean to deny that the evidence is
in some ways verystrongly in favour of your theory," said he. "I only
wish topoint out that there are other theories possible.
As you say, thefuture will decide. Good-morning! I dare say that
in the courseof the day I shall drop in at Norwood and see how
you aregetting on." When the detective departed, my friend rose
and made hispreparations for the day's work with the alert air
of a man whohas a congenial task before him. "My first movement, Watson," said he. as he
bustled into hisfrockcoat, "must, as I said, be in the direction of
Blackheath." "And why not Norwood?" "Because we have in this case one singular
incident comingclose to the heels of another singular incident. The
police aremaking the mistake of concentrating their attention
upon thesecond, because it happens to be the one which is
actuallycriminal. But it is evident to me that the logical
way to approachthe case is to begin by trying to throw some light
upon the firstincident -- the curious will, so suddenly made, and
to so unex-pected an heir. It may do something to simplify what
followed.No, my dear fellow, I don't think you can help me.
There is noprospect of danger, or I should not dream of stirring
out withoutyou. I trust that when I see you in the evening, I
will be able toreport that I have been able to do something for this
unfortunateyoungster, who has thrown himself upon my protection." It was late when my friend returned, and I
could see, by aglance at his haggard and anxious face, that the high
hopes withwhich he had started had not been fulfilled. For an
hour hedroned away upon his violin, endeavouring to soothe
his ownruffled spirits. At last he flung down the instrument,
and plungedinto a detailed account of his misadventures. "It's all going wrong, Watson -- all as wrong
as it can go. Ikept a bold face before Lestrade, but, upon my soul,
I believethat for once the fellow is on the right track and
we are on thewrong. All my instincts are one way, and all the facts
are theother, and I much fear that British juries have not
yet attainedthat pitch of intelligence when they will give the
preference tomy theories over Lestrade's facts." "Did you go to Blackheath?" "Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very
quickly that thelate lamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable blackguard.
Thefather was away in search of his son. The mother was
at home -- alittle, fluffy, blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear
and indigna-tion. Of course, she would not admit even the possibility
of hisguilt. But she would not express either surprise or
regret over thefate of Oldacre. On the contrary, she spoke of him
with suchbitterness that she was unconsciously considerably
strengtheningthe case of the police for, of course, if her son
had heard herspeak of the man in this fashion, it would predispose
himtowards hatred and violence. 'He was more like a malignant
andcunning ape than a human being,' said she, 'and he
always was,ever since he was a young man.' " 'You knew him at that time?' said I. '' 'Yes, I knew him well, in fact, he was an
old suitor ofmine. Thank heaven that I had the sense to turn away
from himand to marry a better, if poorer, man. I was engaged
to him. Mr.Holmes, when I heard a shocking story of how he had
turned acat loose in an aviary, and I was so horrified at
his brutal crueltythat I would have nothing more to do with him.' She
rummagedin a bureau, and presently she produced a photograph
of awoman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife.
'That ismy own photograph.' she said. 'He sent it to me in
that state,with his curse, upon my wedding morning.' " 'Well,' said I, 'at least he has forgiven
you now, since hehas left all his property to your son.' " 'Neither my son nor I want anything from
Jonas Oldacre,dead or alive!' she cried, with a proper spirit. 'There
is a God inheaven, Mr. Holmes, and that same God who has punished
thatwicked man will show, in His own good time, that my
son'shands are guiltless of his blood.' "Well, I tried one or two leads, but could
get at nothingwhich would help our hypothesis, and several points
whichwould make against it. I gave it up at last, and off
I went toNorwood. "This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern
villa ofstaring brick, standing back in its own grounds, with
a laurel-clumped lawn in front of it. To the right and some
distance backfrom the road was the timber-yard which had been the
scene ofthe fire. Here's a rough plan on a leaf of my notebook.
Thiswindow on the left is the one which opens into Oldacre's
room.You can look into it from the road, you see. That
is about theonly bit of consolation I have had to-day. Lestrade
was not there,but his head constable did the honours. They had just
found agreat treasure-trove. They had spent the morning raking
amongthe ashes of the burned wood-pile, and besides the
charredorganic remains they had secured several discoloured
metal discs.I examined them with care, and there was no doubt
that theywere trouser buttons. I even distinguished that one
of them wasmarked with the name of 'Hyams,' who was Oldacre's
tailor. Ithen worked the lawn very carefully for signs and
traces, but thisdrought has made everything as hard as iron. Nothing
was to beseen save that some body or bundle had been dragged
through alow privet hedge which is in a line with the wood-pile.
All that,of course, fits in with the official theory. I crawled
about thelawn with an August sun on my back, but I got up at
the end ofan hour no wiser than before. "Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom
and examinedthat also. The blood-stains were very slight, mere
smears anddiscolourations, but undoubtedly fresh. The stick
had been re-moved, but there also the marks were slight. There
is no doubtabout the stick belonging to our client. He admits
it. Footmarksof both men could be made out on the carpet, but none
of anythird person, which again is a trick for the other
side. They werepiling up their score all the time and we were at
a standstill. "Only one little gleam of hope did I get --
and yet it amountedto nothing. I examined the contents of the safe, most
of whichhad been taken out and left on the table. The papers
had beenmade up into sealed envelopes, one or two of which
had beenopened by the police. They were not, so far as I could
judge, ofany great value, nor did the bank-book show that Mr.
Oldacrewas in such very affluent circumstances. But it seemed
to methat all the papers were not there. There were allusions
to somedeeds -- possibly the more valuable -- which I could
not find.This, of course, if we could definitely prove it,
would turnLestrade's argument against himself; for who would
steal a thingif he knew that he would shortly inherit it? "Finally, having drawn every other cover and
picked up noscent, I tried my luck with the housekeeper. Mrs.
Lexington isher name -- a little, dark, silent person, with suspicious
andsidelong eyes. She could tell us somethirig if she
would -- I amconvinced of it. But she was as close as wax. Yes,
she had letMr. McFarlane in at half-past nine. She wished her
hand hadwithered before she had done so. She had gone to bed
athalf-past ten. Her room was at the other end of the
house, andshe could hear nothing of what passed. Mr. McFarlane
had lefthis hat, and to the best of her belief his stick,
in the hall. She hadbeen awakened by the alarm of fire. Her poor, dear
master hadcertainly been murdered. Had he any enemies? Well,
every manhad enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himself very much
to him-self, and only met people in the way of business.
She had seenthe buttons, and was sure that they belonged to the
clothes whichhe had worn last night. The wood-pile was very dry,
for it hadnot rained for a month. It burned like tinder, and
by the time shereached the spot, nothing could be seen but flames.
She and allthe firemen smelled the burned flesh from inside it.
She knewnothing of the papers, nor of Mr. Oldacre's private
affairs. "So, my dear Watson, there's my report of a
failure. Andyet -- and yet --" he clenched his thin hands in a
paroxysm ofconviction-- "I know it's all wrong. I feel it in
my bones. Thereis something that has not come out, and that housekeeper
knowsit. There was a sort of sulky defiance in her eyes,
which onlygoes with guilty knowledge. However, there's no good
talkingany more about it, Watson; but unless some lucky chance
comesour way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case
will notfigure in that chronicle of our successes which I
foresee that apatient public will sooner or later have to endure." "Surely," said I, "the man's appearance would
go far withany jury?" "That is a dangerous argument, my dear Watson.
You re-member that terrible murderer, Bert Stevens, who wanted
us toget him off in '87? Was there ever a more mild-mannered,Sunday-school young man?" "It is true." "Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative
theory, thisman is lost. You can hardly find a flaw in the case
which cannow be presented against him, and all further investigation
hasserved to strengthen it. By the way, there is one
curious littlepoint about those papers which may serve us as the
starting-pointfor an inquiry. On looking over the bank-book I found
that thelow state of the balance was principally due to large
checkswhich have been made out during the last year to Mr.
Cornelius.I confess that I should be interested to know who
this Mr.Cornelius may be with whom a retired builder has had
such verylarge transactions. Is it possible that he has had
a hand in theaffair? Cornelius might be a broker, but we have found
no scripto correspond with these large payments. Failing any
other in-dication, my researches must now take the direction
of an in-quiry at the bank for the gentleman who has cashed
these checks.But I fear, my dear fellow, that our case will end
ingloriously byLestrade hanging our client, which will certainly
be a triumphfor Scotland Yard." I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took
any sleep thatnight, but when I came down to breakfast I found him
pale andharassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark
shadows roundthem. The carpet round his chair was littered with
cigarette-endsand with the early editions of the morning papers.
An opentelegram lay upon the table. "What do you think of this, Watson?" he asked,
tossing itacross. It was from Norwood, and ran as follows:

"This sounds serious," said I. "It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory,"
Holmesanswered, with a bitter smile. "And yet it may be
premature toabandon the case. After all, important fresh evidence
is a two-edged thing, and may possibly cut in a very different
direction tothat which Lestrade imagines. Take your breakfast,
Watson, andwe will go out together and see what we can do. I
feel as if Ishall need your company and your moral support to-day." My friend had no breakfast himself, for it
was one of hispeculiarities that in his more intense moments he
would permithimself no food, and I have known him presume upon
his ironstrength until he has fainted from pure inanition.
"At present Icannot spare energy and nerve force for digestion,"
he wouldsay in answer to my medical remonstrances. I was not
surprised,therefore, when this morning he left his untouched
meal behindhim, and started with me for Norwood. A crowd of morbidsightseers were still gathered round Deep Dene House,
whichwas just such a suburban villa as I had pictured.
Within the gatesLestrade met us, his face flushed with victory, his
mannergrossly triumphant. "Well, Mr. Holmes, have you proved us to be
wrong yet?Have you found your tramp?" he cried. "I have formed no conclusion whatever," my
companionanswered. "But we formed ours yesterday, and now it proves
to becorrect, so you must acknowledge that we have been
a little infront of you this time, Mr. Holmes." "You certainly have the air of something unusual
havingoccurred," said Holmes. Lestrade laughed loudly. "You don't like being beaten any more than
the rest of usdo," said he. "A man can't expect always to have it
his ownway, can he, Dr. Watson? Step this way, if you please,
gentle-men, and I think I can convince you once for all that
it was JohnMcFarlane who did this crime." He led us through the passage and out into
a dark hall beyond. "This is where young McFarlane must have come
out to gethis hat after the crime was done," said he. "Now look
at this."With dramatic suddenness he struck a match, and by
its lightexposed a stain of blood upon the whitewashed wall.
As he heldthe match nearer, I saw that it was more than a stain.
It was thewell-marked print of a thumb. "Look at that with your magnifying glass, Mr.
Holmes." "Yes, I am doing so." "You are aware that no two thumb-marks are
alike?" "I have heard something of the kind." "Well, then, will you please compare that print
with this waximpression of young McFarlane's right thumb, taken
by myorders this morning?" As he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain,
it did nottake a magnifying glass to see that the two were undoubtedlyfrom the same thumb. It was evident to me that our
unfortunateclient was lost. "That is final," said Lestrade. "Yes, that is final," I involuntarily echoed. "It is final," said Holmes. Something in his tone caught my ear, and I
turned to look athim. An extraordinary change had come over his face.
It waswrithing with inward merriment. His two eyes were
shining likestars. It seemed to me that he was making desperate
efforts torestrain a convulsive attack of laughter. "Dear me! Dear me!" he said at last. "Well,
now, whowould have thought it? And how deceptive appearances
may be,to be sure! Such a nice young man to look at! It is
a lesson to usnot to trust our own judgment, is it not, Lestrade?" "Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined
to be cock-sure, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade. The man's insolence
wasmaddening, but we could not resent it. "What a providential thing that this young
man should presshis right thumb against the wall in taking his hat
from the peg!Such a very natural action, too, if you come to think
if it."Holmes was outwardly calm, but his whole body gave
a wriggleof suppressed excitement as he spoke. "By the way, Lestrade, who made this remarkable
discovery?" "It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who
drew the nightconstable's attention to it." "Where was the night constable?" "He remained on guard in the bedroom where
the crime wascommitted, so as to see that nothing was touched." "But why didn't the police see this mark yesterday?" "Well, we had no particular reason to make
a careful exami-nation of the hall. Besides, it's not in a very prominent
place, asyou see." "No, no -- of course not. I suppose there is
no doubt that themark was there yesterday?" Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought
he was going outof his mind. I confess that I was myself surprised
both at hishilarious manner and at his' rather wild observation. "I don't know whether you think that McFarlane
came out ofjail in the dead of the night in order to strengthen
the evidenceagainst himself," said Lestrade. "I leave it to any
expert in theworld whether that is not the mark of his thumb." "It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb." "There, that's enough," said Lestrade. "I am
a practicalman, Mr. Holmes, and when I have got my evidence I
come tomy conclusions. If you have anything to say, you will
find mewriting my report in the sitting-room." Holmes had recovered his equanimity, though
I still seemed todetect gleams of amusement in his expression. "Dear me, this is a very sad development, Watson,
is it not?"said he. "And yet there are singular points about
it which holdout some hopes for our client." "I am delighted to hear it," said I, heartily.
"I was afraid itwas all up with him." "I would hardly go so far as to say that, my
dear Watson. Thefact is that there is one really serious flaw in this
evidence towhich our friend attaches so much importance." "Indeed, Holmes! What is it?" "Only this: that I know that that mark was
not there when Iexamined the hall yesterday. And now, Watson, let
us have alittle stroll round in the sunshine." With a confused brain, but with a heart into
which somewarmth of hope was returning, I accompanied my friend
in awalk round the garden. Holmes took each face of the
house inturn, and examined it with great interest. He then
led the wayinside, and went over the whole building from basement
to attic.Most of the rooms were unfurnished, but none the less
Holmesinspected them all minutely. Finally, on the top corridor,
whichran outside three untenanted bedrooms, he again was
seized witha spasm of merriment. "There are really some very unique features
about this case,Watson," said he. "I think it is time now that we
took our friendLestrade into our confidence. He has had his little
smile at ourexpense, and perhaps we may do as much by him, if
my readingof this problem proves to be correct. Yes, yes, I
think I see howwe should approach it." The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing
in the parlourwhen Holmes interrupted him. "I understood that you were writing a report
of this case,"said he. "So I am." "Don't you think it may be a little premature?
I can't helpthinking that your evidence is not complete." Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard
his words. Helaid down his pen and looked curiously at him. "What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?" "Only that there is an important witness whom
you have notseen." "Can you produce him?" "I think I can." "Then do so." "I will do my best. How many constables have
you?" "There are three within call." "Excellent!" said Holmes. "May I ask if they
are all large,able-bodied men with powerful voices?" "I have no doubt they are, though I fail to
see what theirvoices have to do with it." "Perhaps I can help you to see that and one
or two otherthings as well," said Holmes. "Kindly summon your
men, and Iwill try." Five minutes later, three policemen had assembled
in the hall. "In the outhouse you will find a considerable
quantity ofstraw," said Holmes. "I will ask you to carry in two
bundles of it.I think it will be of the greatest assistance in producing
thewitness whom I require. Thank you very much. I believe
youhave some matches in your pocket, Watson. Now, Mr.
Lestrade,I will ask you all to accompany me to the top landing." As I have said, there was a broad corridor
there, which ranoutside three empty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor
wewere all marshalled by Sherlock Holmes, the constables
grinningand Lestrade staring at my friend with amazement,
expectation,and derision chasing each other across his features.
Holmesstood before us with the air of a conjurer who is
performing atrick. "Would you kindly send one of your constables
for twobuckets of water? Put the straw on the floor here.
free from thewall on either side. Now I think that we are all ready." Lestrade's face had begun to grow red and angry. "I don't know whether you are playing a game
with us, Mr.Sherlock Holmes," said he. "If you know anything,
you cansurely say it without all this tomfoolery." "I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have
an excellentreason for everything that I do. You may possibly
remember thatyou chaffed me a little, some hours ago, when the
sun seemedon your side of the hedge, so you must not grudge
me a littlepomp and ceremony now. Might I ask you, Watson, to
open thatwindow, and then to put a match to the edge of the
straw?" I did so, and driven by the draught, a coil
of gray smokeswirled down the corridor, while the dry straw crackled
andflamed. "Now we must see if we can find this witness
for you, Lestrade.Might I ask you all to join in the cry of 'Fire!'?
Now then; one,two, three --" "Fire!" we all yelled. "Thank you. I will trouble you once again." "Fire!" "Just once more, gentlemen, and all together." "Fire!" The shout must have rung over Norwood. It had hardly died away when an amazing thing
happened. Adoor suddenly flew open out of what appeared to be
solid wall atthe end of the corridor, and a little, wizened man
darted out of itlike a rabbit out of its burrow. "Capital!" said Holmes, calmly. "Watson, a
bucket of waterover the straw. That will do! Lestrade, allow me to
present youwith your principal missing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre." The detective stared at the newcomer with blank
amazement.The latter was blinking in the bright light of the
corridor, andpeering at us and at the smouldering fire. It was
an odiousface -- crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-gray
eyes andwhite lashes. "What's this, then?" said Lestrade, at last.
"What have youbeen doing all this time, eh?" Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back
from the furiousred face of the angry detective. "I have done no harm." "No harm? You have done your best to get an
innocent manhanged. If it wasn't for this gentleman here, I am
not sure thatyou would not have succeeded." The wretched creature began to whimper. "I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke." "Oh! a joke, was it? You won't find the laugh
on your side, Ipromise you. Take him down, and keep him in the sitting-roomuntil I come. Mr. Holmes," he continued, when they
had gone,"I could not speak before the constables, but I don't
mindsaying, in the presence of Dr. Watson, that this is
the brightestthing that you have done yet, though it is a mystery
to me howyou did it. You have saved an innocent man's life,
and you haveprevented a very grave scandal, which would have ruined
myreputation in the Force." Holmes smiled, and clapped Lestrade upon the
shoulder. "Instead of being ruined, my good sir, you
will find that yourreputation has been enormously enhanced. Just make
a fewalterations in that report which you were writing,
and they willunderstand how hard it is to throw dust in the eyes
of InspectorLestrade." "And you don't want your name to appear?" "Not at all. The work is its own reward. Perhaps
I shall getthe credit also at some distant day, when I permit
my zealoushistorian to lay out his foolscap once more -- eh,
Watson? Well,now, let us see where this rat has been lurking." A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across
the passagesix feet from the end, with a door cunningly concealed
in it. Itwas lit within by slits under the eaves. A few articles
of furnitureand a supply of food and water were within, together
with anumber of books and papers. "There's the advantage of being a builder,"
said Holmes, as wecame out. "He was able to fix up his own little hiding-placewithout any confederate -- save, of course, that precious
house-keeper of his, whom I should lose no time in adding
to your bag,Lestrade." "I'll take your advice. But how did you know
of this place,Mr. Holmes?" "I made up my mind that the fellow was in hiding
in thehouse. When I paced one corridor and found it six
feet shorterthan the corresponding one below, it was pretty clear
where hewas. I thought he had not the nerve to lie quiet before
an alarmof fire. We could, of course, have gone in and taken
him, but itamused me to make him reveal himself. Besides, I owed
you alittle mystification, Lestrade, for your chaff in
the morning." "Well, sir, you certainly got equal with me
on that. But howin the world did you know that he was in the house
at all?" "The thumb-mark, Lestrade. You said it was
final; and so itwas, in a very different sense. I knew it had not
been there theday before. I pay a good deal of attention to matters
of detail, asyou may have observed, and I had examined the hall,
and wassure that the wall was clear. Therefore, it had been
put on duringthe night." "But how?" "Very simply. When those packets were sealed
up, JonasOldacre got McFarlane to secure one of the seals by
putting histhumb upon the soft wax. It would be done so quickly
and sonaturally, that I daresay the young man himself has
no recollec-tion of it. Very likely it just so happened, and Oldacre
hadhimself no notion of the use he would put it to. Brooding
overthe case in that den of his, it suddenly struck him
what abso-lutely damning evidence he could make against McFarlane
byusing that thumb-mark. It was the simplest thing in
the world forhim to take a wax impression from the seal, to moisten
it in asmuch blood as he could get from a pin-prick, and to
put the markupon the wall during the night, either with his own
hand or withthat of his housekeeper. If you examine among those
documentswhich he took with him into his retreat, I will lay
you a wagerthat you find the seal with the thumbmark upon it." "Wonderful!" said Lestrade. "Wonderful! It's
all as clear ascrystal, as you put it. But what is the object of
this deepdeception, Mr. Holmes?" It was amusing to me to see how the detective's
overbearingmanner had changed suddenly to that of a child asking
questionsof its teacher. "Well, I don't think that is very hard to explain.
A very deep,malicious, vindictive person is the gentleman who
is now wait-ing us downstairs. You know that he was once refused
byMcFarlane's mother? You don't! I told you that you
should go toBlackheath first and Norwood afterwards. Well, this
injury, ashe would consider it, has rankled in his wicked, scheming
brain,and all his life he has longed for vengeance, but
never seen hischance. During the last year or two, things have gone
againsthim -- secret speculation, I think -- and he finds
himself in a badway. He determines to swindle his creditors, and for
this purposehe pays large checks to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who
is, Iimagine, himself under another name. I have not traced
thesechecks yet, but I have no doubt that they were banked
under thatname at some provincial town where Oldacre from time
to timeled a double existence. He intended to change his
name al-together, draw this money, and vanish, starting life
againelsewhere." "Well, that's likely enough." "It would strike him that in disappearing he
might throw allpursuit off his track, and at the same time have an
ample andcrushing revenge upon his old sweetheart, if he could
give theimpression that he had been murdered by her only child.
It was amasterpiece of villainy, and he carried it out like
a master. Theidea of the will, which would give an obvious motive
for thecrime, the secret visit unknown to his own parents,
the retentionof the stick, the blood, and the animal remains and
buttons in thewood-pile, all were admirable. It was a net from which
it seemedto me, a few hours ago, that there was no possible
escape. Buthe had not that supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge
of whento stop. He wished to improve that which was already
perfect -- todraw the rope tighter yet round the neck of his unfortunate
victim --and so he ruined all. Let us descend, Lestrade. There
are just oneor two questions that I would ask him." The malignant creature was seated in his own
parlour, with apoliceman upon each side of him. "It was a joke, my good sir -- a practical
joke, nothing more,"he whined incessantly. "I assure you, sir, that I
simply con-cealed myself in order to see the effect of my disappearance,
andI am sure that you would not be so unjust as to imagine
that Iwould have allowed any harm to befall poor young Mr.McFarlane." "That's for a jury to decide," said Lestrade.
"Anyhow, weshall have you on a charge of conspiracy, if not for
attemptedmurder." "And you'll probably find that your creditors
will impoundthe banking account of Mr. Cornelius," said Holmes. The little man started, and turned his malignant
eyes upon myfriend. "l have to thank you for a good deal," said
he. "Perhaps I'llpay my debt some day." Holmes smiled indulgently. "I fancy that, for some few years, you will
find your timevery fully occupied," said he. "By the way, what was
it you putinto the wood-pile besides your old trousers? A dead
dog, orrabbits, or what? You won't tell? Dear me, how very
unkind ofyou! Well, well, I daresay that a couple of rabbits
would accountboth for the blood and for the charred ashes. If ever
you write anaccount, Watson, you can make rabbits serve your turn."